My Sunday Feeling

It's been a great couple of days. Thanksgiving morning was crisp and cold, just like it should be. I went out for a run. Thanksgiving in the People's Republic of Hillcrest typically begins with about a third of the neighborhood out running or walking to make room for the turkey. At least it seems like that many. And there are always folks out there on Thanksgiving that I've never seen before.


This year's stranger was a strapping young man running down Kavanaugh wearing a buzz cut and warmups with "United States Marine Corps" emblazoned upon them. He pointed at the Tulane logo on my hoodie as he approached.


" Good Morning, Sir!" he called out in his bass voice. "Roll Wave!"


" Happy Thanksgiving, son," I called back. It occurred to me that I'm old enough now to address men in their twenties as "son." " Happy Thanksgiving and good luck!"


" Happy Thanksgiving to you, Sir!" he replied as he motored on down the street listening to his IPod.

That kid had muscles in his teeth. I pity the fool that tries to take him on in a straight up fight.


When I got back home, I noticed a text message on my phone.


"Today is Thanksgiving," it said. " I want you to know that I am grateful to have you in my life."


The sender is a friend of mine who lost her daughter to suicide last summer and who has been pretty much incommunicado for the last 5 months or so. I take this to be a positive sign that she is returning to the land of the living.


I had Thanksgiving lunch with Mother at the nursing home. We were joined by Mr. Riley Hunter who lives across the hall from her along with his son-in-law Bill. Mr. Hunter is frail but he's still pretty sharp. Mother, unfortunately, is virtually incoherent at this stage of the disease process. Words leave her in mid-sentence. To complicate matters, we suspect that the Parkinson's is into her vocal cords a little now because her vocal production is very poor. Her volume is just above a whisper.


I just smile and nod and tell her that I am sorry but that I don't understand her.


She waves the back of her hand at me and says, " Never mind." She can say that and she is forced to say it a lot.


After he was through eating, Mr. Hunter turned his back to the table so he could look at the football game on the TV behind us.

Bill tilted his head toward his father-in-law, " You're looking at some American history there, boy."


" Really. How so?" I asked.


" Riley was one of the boys that took the beach at Omaha." he replied. " Never could bring himself to talk about it until 50 years later."


"Wow."

" Fifty years, I'm tellin' ya."


" My dad was a Seebee," I said. " Went ashore with the Marines at Iwo Jima."


" Oh God, that was even worse," Bill said." Those Japanese.......I mean, the Germans were no fun but the Japanese were just, they were just vicious." He closed his eyes and shuddered.


" Dad never talked about it either."


" It was too hard. Too hard." Mother said. She was as clear as a bell.


There was silence at the table. I noticed tears in her eyes.


" I'm sure it was ma'am." Bill said. " I know it was."



It is a good thing to remember always that there are heroes in our midst. I was surrounded by them on Thanksgiving from that big son-of-a-bitch loping down Kavanaugh in his Marine Corps drag to guys like Mr. Hunter who, along with my father, went and did their duty and kept their mouths shut about it afterwards.


And let's not forget people like my Mother for whom every day is a struggle to retain basic human dignity. Thank God she is in a place where she is truly well cared for. Some people at her station in life can't make that claim.


When I got back home I sent a text back to my friend.


" I want to see you soon," I wrote.



" I would like that very much," she replied.


Welcome back, Sweetheart. I'm glad you decided to stay with us.


Talk about a hero.